It would be months before Hermione heard from Draco again. Which left her to her own thoughts and imagination, both of which spiralled out of her control and finally convinced her that their brief dance was all in her head despite it being real.
One thing she knew for certain, Draco Malfoy now was not the Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts. The Dark Mark was a stain. And with new light shed at Luna's wedding about him, she found the very basis of her feelings for Draco completely shifting.
Why hadn't she ever seen it before?
He was a child, they all were. They were all forced into impossible situations and everyone did the best with what they had. Was it his fault that he was a legacy Death Eater?
Did he have a choice?
Her mind dissected the letter, then she perused it almost every day for a week following the wedding. She decided she would go into the Ministry. She had to go to the archives, she had to speak to Zabini. She even had to find out about Teddy, who admittedly had become less and less a thought in her mind.
Writing him a letter about improvements for the library was laughable now. Being friendly with him felt like betrayal. But she didn't know if it was betrayal to herself or to someone else.
With Harry and Ginny's romance rekindling, Hermione thought it was finally the end of her stay at Grimmauld Place, and she left knowing that she could return anytime.
Harry offered a small smile and a tight hug before she twisted on spot and appeared in the familiar park near her home in Hampstead. Hermione knew he was sad to see her go, but she was ecstatic for him and Ginny.
She inhaled deeply, letting home surround her. The smell of water on the pitch of the road wafted around her and she smiled, looking to the sky. Unafraid to get wet, she moved leisurely and soaked in the street as she walked home, the beaded purse hanging from her fingertips. As she rounded her street corner, the first droplet met her skin in a cool kiss, before it fell rapidly and all at once.
Hermione wasn't soaked through, but her hair dripped in a rhythm as the excess water glided off of her. Her parents weren't home yet, it was just barely three in the afternoon. She unpacked her things without the aid of magic finding calm in the mundane tasks.
She rifled through her magical plants and muggle ingredients before placing them into a potions kit Harry had gotten her for Christmas the previous year. When the background roar of the rain died to delicate dripping, Hermione cast a simple spell that repelled water off her immediate body and grasped Potioneering and Muggle Sciences: Vol 3 .
Hermione strode to her favourite part of the countryside and inhaled the scent of fresh earth as it churned under her heel, and her hair, despite having magical protection, frizzed with the extra moisture in the air and her curls became more pronounced.
She liked it when it curled like that, she thought she looked more like her father then, and there wasn't much that she had of him in her physical features besides the texture of her hair, the colour of her eyes, and the medium brown of her skin that turned into a glowing golden colour under the sun.
Under the tree on a conjured cushion, she read the book with no luck in retaining her focus. She read the lines of the fourth chapter's first paragraph maybe three times before she sighed, shut the book and inhaled the scent of wet grass.
With eyes closed, Hermione tilted her head back and onto the trunk of the tree. Cool air skimmed around her, fluttering at her frizzy hair and blowing into the shells of her ears. Unconsciously, she pulled out a notepad and a ballpoint pen, things she carried in her beaded purse for convenience because a pot of ink and quill was messy, and she began to plan her following day.
First, the Archives at the Ministry. She juggled the idea of going with Harry, but then she was not ready to explain her reasons. Not that he would pry, but she would want to tell him, and she was not ready.
Secondly, after finding out what she could on Teddy, she would be going to the Library, inquire as to who she could speak to, and go about improving the library that way. Indeed, she had actually hoped that she could volunteer, use her time wisely by helping others, even if it wasn't a paid job. It would give her something to do.
Thirdly, she thought of visiting Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to get a paying job. Brains, that was what Hermione was most proud of. And while she had despised the use of their joke shop items at school, she needed to be paid. She was tired of feeling useless and directionless.
She was tired of being a headline.
And an accessory for someone else's arm.
She was Hermione Granger.
More people worked during the day because of the recession within Britain, Hermione's parents often returned home after 7 o'clock when they accommodated clients who couldn't otherwise make it during the day. Hermione was confident that she would see them as she returned from her tree in the countryside.
Before her street corner was a little Indian restaurant that thrived locally because of how small they were. They were guaranteed to be busy and profitable. It was her parents favourite comfort food, easy access, affordable, and beyond all, extremely tasty. The food was still piping hot when she unlocked her door and walked into the kitchen to her parents who were speaking in strained voices with their brows drawn together.
"Mom? Dad?" Her voice croaked a little from disuse and she cleared her throat which got their immediate attention.
"Oh sweetie." Hermione's mother's eyes were glassy and the corners of her mouth turned down in the way that told Hermione nothing was okay.
"Dad? What's wrong?" Hermione's mind had immediately rushed to the thought of an incurable disease, being very familiar with all the ways muggles can get sick. Her father read her assumption on her face, and he immediately lifted his hands to stave them off.
"No, no. It's not like that." he said, then opened his arms to welcome her for a hug. She sank against him and inhaled the smell of their laundry detergent. Comforting and familiar, everything like home.
"Well, it looks like someone died, or is dying. What did actually happen?" Hermione prompted when both her parent's eyes met in a way that let Hermione know they were weighing whether to tell her.
"Okay, I'm going to start guessing names about who died, because you guys are freaking me out." Hermione held her father at arms length and levelled them with a wide stare.
"We had to let half the staff go." her mother said in a quick sentence, often like Hermione did when she was excited to get an answer out. Only this wasn't an answer, and her mother was not excited.
Ringing occupied her ears for a searing two seconds before she swallowed and allowed her mind to restart. "What do you mean?"
"No one can afford dentists, we're getting less customers lately. We couldn't keep paying our staff." Her dad was now trying to explain to her like she was still in school.
"I can work. I can work for free. What do you need me to do?" She immediately offered because it was all that she could do. They never allowed her to work before because they wanted her to be in her own world, getting magical jobs. But that hadn't worked out either. She was going to force them to take her.
"No, honey, you can't-" Her mother tried to quip. Hermione didn't let her.
"I am a free hand, I am great with organization. I can work every day if you will have me."
"Half day, half a day. We've cut back on our hours as well." Her father said with a sad droop of his head.
"Half the day then, I will do it. You can't talk me out of it." Her mother looked at her with a mixture of pride and sorrow. Hermione did what she could do and roped them into a two armed hug until their faces were pressed into her frizzy hair and laundry detergent was all she could smell. Their warmth was welcome from the chill of the rain outside. Her mother shifted.
"Did you get Indian?" she asked hopefully, her head breaking away from the hug to peer around the kitchen for the source of the aromas.
"I did. Now let's eat, and talk this out like a family with a family business. I would start tomorrow, but I have a few things I want to do." Hermione remembered her short list and sighed at the thought of finally getting the nerve to prove Draco's words and actively seek a job, any job, in the wizarding world, then not having the time.
"Of course, honey. You don't have to start at all, actually." Her father pinched her cheek and she smacked his hand away and grinned.
"You can't get rid of me." Hermione beamed at him as she dished out the food from their take away containers into their respective plates.
It was delicious.
The Ministry Archives opened at 6 am and closed at 6 pm. Hermione woke at 5 am and slowly went about her morning ritual. She ate toast and butter, with a little tea, her stomach unable to stay settled as her nerves worked their way through her.
It wasn't as though she expected to run into Draco. And she had a perfectly fine excuse for if she ran into Harry. She would be applying for jobs. She rifled through her beaded purse for space to place an envelope that held a resume and general cover letter, with her initials H.G. She hoped if there were any interested persons, they would contact her not because of her name, but her merit.
And if that didn't work, she would reapply with her name. Maybe she could influence people within the Ministry about their poor hiring practices that way.
Forgoing the visitor's entrance, she used a Ministry Floo Network fireplace at Diagon Alley, which she was allowed to use; Hermione could only assume it was because Draco had added her name to the visitors list. It had been weeks, she wondered if it expired.
The heel of her shoe squeaked as she stepped away from the fireplace and dusted at her robes. She tutted, knowing better, then removed the soot from her palms with the aid of magic.
She stumbled as her feet moved without her consciously thinking so and finally the roar of the Ministry Atrium filled her ears as people appeared in the woosh of flames, or the crack of apparation.
Everyone around her didn't see her nor cared. They were all striding purposefully to their destinations, eyes fixed ahead or on their suitcases or wands, the noise punctuated with the steady high pitched clacking of heels on the marbled floors. Random shouts of greetings yelled across the room and bouncing across the walls pulled at her attention, so she ducked her head and strode to the reception desk. The wizard greeted her with a big smile and Hermione saw his name tag in black letters on a shiny gold background read Bello.
"How can I help you today?" Bello's eyes stared fixedly at Hermione, none of the distractions around her existed. Bello's question made Hermione realise that she didn't know where exactly the Archives were.
"This might sound ridiculous. I'm not sure how this works. I'm- my name is listed as a visitor for the Archives?" Hermione felt the tone lilt into a question and flushed. She had thought she came prepared and realised she hadn't been at all.
Bello's eyes flickered to the desk in front of him and then up at Hermione again. "Yes. Of course, ma'am. What is your name?"
Hermione felt flustered. She had never been the type to assume people knew who she was just by looking at her, but she had grown so used to the gawking that this completely threw her. Her brain betrayed her today in a way it hadn't in a long time. "Hermione Jean Granger." She attempted to sound solid and sure of herself; it passed.
The man's eyes widened a little then returned to their 'just the right amount of interested' gaze as he nodded slowly. "One moment please."
"Do you know which office I can drop off a resume at?" Hermione had intended on leaving it with Mr Weasley, but he might tell anyone who asked, that H.G. stood for Hermione Granger.
Bello held out a piece of parchment with delicately written words pressed into the surface. It was long dried. She recognised the hand immediately from her nights pouring over his letter.
"Thank you." Hermione looked at Bello and gave a weak smile. She turned away from the desk as Bello greeted someone behind her and paused when she realised she couldn't read while walking without bumping into people. Her other practice of this particular skill set was done in the countryside; without obstacles.
Department of Mysteries. The Archives were moved there to better protect the collection. Ask for Junie, she will show you the way. I asked her to help so all the documents and newspaper stories relevant to what I have told you about are pre gathered for you. I know you're a busy woman. I thought it would be streamlined this way. Please feel free to continue digging into my sordid past if you can spare the time.
DM
"Sordid?" Hermione chuckled. She knew how to get to the Department of Mysteries, and found that despite the abundance of bodies, no one pointed her out, or stared. She felt relief wash through her when she made it into the quiet halls of the dark tiled Department.
Her heels clacked along the floor announcing her presence to anyone close enough to hear it. She found tacked to a wall at a junction of corridors, a sign that displayed where to go. Atrium, Courtrooms, Department of Mysteries (Authorized Personnel only), and The Archives. She turned left and found an ornate wooden door from floor to ceiling.
Hermione raised her fist to knock, unsure if to do so, when the door swung forward, heavy and pushing the air around her in a soft breeze.
"Ms Granger. We have been expecting you. Please, come on in." Hermione didn't see the source of the voice until she broke into the room and her eyes adjusted to the dim lights. She squinted. "Ah, we apologize for the low light, we find that it deteriorates the moving pictures and prints."
"I'm sorry, are you Junie?" Hermione's eyes adjusted a little further and she finally made out the features of the woman before her. She had big eyes, and hair tied away from her face. Her lips were a tight line, but Hermione felt nothing but helpfulness flow from her. Like a librarian.
"I am, and Mr Malfoy has instructed me to help you. We have a reading station for readers and visitors, but it is not set up yet with your readings. If you can please wait here, I will go get your materials." Hermione nodded. She had found herself at a reading bay, one of many.
There was a little blue glow coming from one of them. She shuffled closer, to peek at the person who might be interested in old newspaper clippings.
Her heart stopped and she immediately ducked out of sight.
He was there, Draco was there. His ankles crossed, a quill tucked between his teeth, and reading glasses gleamed in the blue light. Blue light from a familiar scoopable flame she used often at Hogwarts.
She retreated away from the pods to find Junie, and instead got lost in the floor to ceiling shelves with stacks and stacks of papers, labelled with plaques according to year, then month.
She had gotten to 1759 when Junie found her.
"Ms Granger?" she was startled to find Hermione not where she had left her.
"Sorry, there was someone there. I felt weird, tried to find you." Hermione tried to stitch her sentences together and found that her brain still didn't function properly.
"Ah, Mr Malfoy. Yes." Junie continued walking and Hermione followed her. The Archives was a labrinth. It reminded Hermione of the library, except devoid of light. Hermione waited for Junie to continue, but she didn't. They walked for a while until returning to the pods. The blue light was absent, Draco was gone.
"Here you go, Ms Granger." Junie placed a stack of papers on the desk, flicked her wand and filled a jar with a blue flame, and disappeared.
"Thank you!" Hermione called after her, unable now to see outside of the radius of the little blue light.